


1-800-hajime's-bulge

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, First Time Hand Jobs, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8134231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Oikawa Tooru, I want you to touch my penis; and I also want to touch yours, if that’s okay.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday, britney
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>  
> 
> i had no time to read this through and barely enough to even finish this, but here it is, in all it's glory. i hope it's sweet enough for u
> 
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> also, i love you. happy birthday. even though i'm way late. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
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> also: this work contains the word "cockslut". if that makes you uncomfortable, please don't read this!!!

Three years ago; junior year; aged seventeen. Tooru’s terrified. They’d been dating for three months, seven days, and eight-- no,  _ nine _ hours-- and Tooru’s  _ terrified _ . Hajime invited him home, and his parents aren’t home. He’d  _ told _ him that; a simple,  _ hey, my parents aren’t home, d’you wanna-- uh-- come over, maybe _ ? Tooru’s inhaled a shaky breath, smiled shakily and nodded, and now-- sitting on Hajime’s bed-- he’s biting his lower lip and watching Hajime pull off his pants and put on his sweatpants whilst frantically running his palm over Hajime’s bedsheets; Godzilla themed, naturally. He watches the pattern change and contort underneath his fingertips, when--  _ oh God, he can see Hajime’s bulge; abort,  _ **_abort--_ **

Hajime throws him a ratty old t-shirt. It’s dark inside his room. 

“What,” Hajime scoffs, “Are you just gonna sit there gawking? You look like a fish.” 

The way he smiles-- a little lopsided, and all shiny, white teeth against tan skin-- at Tooru so  _ openly  _ makes his heart hurt. Tooru closes his open mouth and averts his gaze.

“You didn’t give me any pants,” he mumbles as he pulls off his shirt. Hajime snorts.

“Don’t be such a princess, Tooru.” Hajime sighs, and jumps onto the bed. He leans against the propped pillows and places his hands behind his head. Their bodies touch, briefly, and Tooru feels like he’s on fire. He tugs on the t-shirt, and lets his hair ruffle as he pops his head through the stretched out hole. 

“‘m not a princess,” he grumbles, and Hajime laughs.

“Sure,” Hajime says. He sounds a little more fond than annoyed, and the thought makes Tooru blush as he tugs off his pants; he’s wearing boxers-- as  _ always--  _ which is why Hajime didn’t bother to give him any pyjama bottoms. He knows Tooru sleeps in his boxers, anyway, and it never  _ used  _ to be a big deal, but now-- 

Tooru’s standing before Hajime in Hajime’s over-sized t-shirt--  _ boyfriend shirt _ , his heart sings-- and the hem skims against his bare thighs. He feels naked and very,  _ very  _ embarrassed, even though-- 

They’re dating, Tooru remembers; they’ve kissed, and stuff, and this  _ shouldn’t _  be a big deal because Hajime happens to  _ like  _ his scrawny, pale and hairless-- smooth, Tooru prefers to say-- chicken legs. He settles beside Hajime, turning on his side to watch him. Hajime  leans over his body to grab his laptop, and  _ oh, yes;  _ Tooru’s definitely nervous. Hajime’s arms brushed against the bare skin of Tooru’s upper thigh and  _ fuck--  _ he’s  _ blushing.  _

“What d’you wanna watch?” Hajime asks, and  _ has his voice always been this deep? _ Tooru doesn’t remember. All that matters in that moment is that the skin on Hajime’s neck looks very soft, and Tooru wants to kiss him so bad it hurts.

“Don’t care,” Tooru settles on. Hajime stares at him and raises and eyebrow.

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Tooru says, “Seriously.”

Hajime snorts.

“Sure,” he states, “Godzilla, James Bond, or  _ Reservoir Dogs _ ; you pick.”

Tooru groans.

“Nevermind,” he whines, “I changed my mind; how about  _ Star Trek _ ?”

“ _ Star Wars _ ; the new one,” states Hajime.

Tooru furrows his brow and stares at Hajime’s eyes. They’re very nice, he thinks. 

“Fine,” he exhales.

Hajime shakes his fist in celebration, and it’s adorable. He types on his laptop, clicks once or twice, and adjusts the volume before leaning back. Tooru feels his entire body grow stiff; is Hajime going to--  _ touch  _ him? He’d die, probably, but  _ oh, what a way to go _ .

Tooru bites at the inside of his mouth.  _ Do the arm thing, _ he prays.  _ Please, pl--e--a--se put your arm around me, Iwaizumi Hajime. _

Hajime shifts. Tooru holds his breath, then; he lifts his arm, and places his palm on Tooru’s shoulder. It’s warm, and comfortable. Tooru inches closer to him, and rests his head on Hajime’s shoulder. Score;  _ 1:1 _ . He knows it drives Hajime  _ crazy  _ to have the soft tips of his hair ghost against his neck and chin. There’s a reason Tooru’s invested in the single most expensive conditioner sold in his local drugstore. 

Hajime inhales a shaking breath. It’s working, Tooru thinks. He wants to smile. 

The next ten minutes, he swears he’s not breathing. Hajime doesn’t move, or say anything, and Tooru feels like he’s dying. All he wants to do is climb into Hajime’s lap and kiss him senseless, though he doesn’t know if Hajime’d be into that. It feels strained; Tooru feels tenser than ever before. For once, he can’t focus on Finn and Poe and Rey and remember how much he  _ loves  _ Princess Leia. Instead, all he thinks about how much he loves Iwaizumi Hajime, and  _ oh-- _

His eyes keep gravitating towards Hajime’s bulge. He can trace the outline with his gaze; it’s  _ right there _ . Tooru didn’t know he was a cockslut before this experience, but  _ boy--  _ his mind was driven on Hajime’s bulge, and Hajime’s bulge alone. He wanted to touch it; feel it; fucking  _ shove that shit down his throat _ until Hajime shook all over and cried his name, tugged his hair and--

“Hey; you still watching?”

Tooru jolts.

Hajime’s staring at him.

“Y-- yeah,” he says; curse his stutter, “I am; I am.”

Hajime licks his lower lip. He’s trying to  _ kill  _ him, Tooru’s sure of it. 

“Okay,” he says skeptically, “Are you-- you sure-- I mean, this isn’t hurting your knee, or anything? We can go downstairs, or something--”

“ _ No _ !” shouts Tooru. He’s sitting up now. Hajime sets the laptop aside. Princess Leia says something to Han, and briefly, Tooru considers whether he has a type as Hajime frowns at him-- just like Leia-- and leans closer. “It doesn’t hurt, I swear. I’m just… tired.”

“Tired?”

“Been a long day.”

Hajime pulls his lips to one side.

“You don’t-- we don’t  _ have  _ to watch anything, you know,” Hajime says, “We can sleep, too. If you’re tired,” he clarifies.

The thought of Hajime pulling Tooru closer to him makes his blood boil.

“I’m good,” he chokes. 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” sings Tooru. His voice cracks. 

Hajime bites his lower lip. He leans closer; their noses are inches apart. 

“Tooru,” he says, “Tell me what’s wrong; please. You’re all red. If you’re getting sick again, I swear to--”

“I want to touch your penis.”

Hajime’s eyes widen comically. A single syllable escapes his mouth. Tooru stares at him, and he wants to  _ die _ . He’s positive he’s bright red, and ruined their relationship. Hajime’ll break up with him, and they’ll  _ never  _ be the power couple at the 2024 olympics like Tooru’d planned, and  _ oh God _ \-- 

“Oh,” Hajime states after a long while.

“Yeah.”

“I-- yeah,” Hajime croaks. He coughs into his fist. “I-- yeah, okay.”

Tooru’s eyes widen. 

“Okay?” he echoes.

Hajime lowers his head and looks up at Tooru.

“Okay,” he repeats, “I said  _ okay _ .”

“I heard that,” Tooru says, “But-- I-- what did you  _ mean _ ?”

Hajime’s flushing, now. It’s infinitely adorable, and Tooru wants to die. He’s fallen far too fast and too hard for this boy, but then again, he’s never stood much of a chance; it was love at first sight, probably. 

“I meant that-- that I want you to-- I want you, to--”

“Look me in the eyes,” Tooru insists, “When you-- look me in the eyes when you say it.”

“ _ Seriously _ ?” whines Hajime. 

“Yes,” Tooru says sternly; if he wanted anyone to break up with him, he wanted it to be honest and real.

“Fine,” grits Hajime. He shuffles, and sits before Tooru. Grabbing his hands, he captures Tooru’s attention. Hajime’s hands are sort of sweaty and clammy, Tooru thinks, and he looks nervous and  _ younger _ . It’s a good look, Tooru decides; at least his soon-to-be ex will be both the love of his life-- his  _ soulmate _ \-- and the best looking person he’s ever seen-- other than himself-- and  _ God _ , he hopes he doesn’t cry----

“Oikawa Tooru, I want you to touch my penis; and I also want to touch yours, if that’s okay.”

Tooru’s entire body seizes up. He falls backwards, and whines a horribly embarrassed  _ f-u-u-u-c-k! _

Hajime hovers over him, and his face is still red. Tooru’s chest is heaving. Hajime looks down at him with something akin to wonder. His smile is fond, and his knees are on either side of his hips. His palm is braced beside Tooru’s head. He’s close, and he’s beautiful, Tooru thinks. His lips quivers. 

“Are you--  _ fuck _ , Tooru; are you  _ seriously  _ crying?”

Tooru sniffs. He brushes a stray tear away.

“‘m not crying,” he mumbles behind his fingers. He can’t breathe, but it’s too embarrassing to have Hajime see him like this. 

Hajime laughs. Tooru wonders if this is what  _ true  _ love is. It probably is. 

“Fuck,” Tooru sighs, “I…  _ fuck _ ; I totally-- I totally ruined this evening for you, didn’t I?”

“Are you kidding me?” Hajime says as he pries Tooru’s fingers off of his face and rests his hand above Tooru’s, “This made my day.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Hajime promises him. He leans closer, and  _ oh, fuck _ ; he’s still smiling at Tooru as if Tooru were the very last of his wishes to come true. Tooru whines low in his throat at the sight, and the sound merely makes Hajime’s smile widen a fraction of an inch. 

They’re quiet, for a while. Tooru can feel his heartbeat hammer in his chest. Hajime’s so close-- so  _ damn  _ close to him-- and all he can think about is his bulge hidden in his sweatpants and he wonders what his bare skin would feel like underneath his fingertips. 

“Hey,” Tooru nudges their noses together, “Kiss me.”

Hajime grins; white teeth showing through. That’s Tooru’s favourite smile, he decides; the ones were Hajime is truly, utterly happy.

“Okay,” Hajime says and then--  _ bless him _ \-- they’re kissing. He cups Tooru’s face after studying it all too seriously for a moment and kisses him. It’s a little clumsy, and far too chaste for Tooru’s liking, but he couldn’t help but sigh and melt into the mattress beneath him. Hajime’s mouth is soft and warm; familiar yet new. It’s a peck-- nothing more and nothing less-- and yet, Tooru’s lips part and he flutters his eyes open as Hajime pulls back just as suddenly as he’d pressed towards him. Light puffs of air blow against Tooru’s face as he blinks up at Hajime.

Hajime’s flushed red.  _ I did that _ , Tooru realises,  _ I made him flustered. _

“Shit,” Hajime says, “You’re gorgeous.”

Tooru’s eyes widen and his tongue morphs into a stammered response, though Hajime cuts him off with another kiss. Tooru’s hands reach up to rub at the warm skin of the back of Hajime’s neck, and the other tangles itself into Hajime’s hair as he opens his mouth. Hajime licks at the roof of his mouth and tangles their tongues together, and  _ oh-- _ the moment Hajime hums into the kiss and presses closer is the moment Tooru stops thinking altogether. Tooru’s glasses press uncomfortably against Hajime’s face, and the whole experience feels a little uncoordinated. In Tooru’s book, it’s their best kiss yet, and then--

Hajime licks at Tooru’s lower lip and bites at his mouth, presses his tongue against Tooru’s, and Tooru feels like he’s running a marathon. In that moment, he could’ve painted a Picasso or gone to the moon. He feels  _ elated _ , and he grabs at Hajime’s shoulders and chest. He’s toned all over. Tooru berates himself for forgetting that Hajime isn’t just a pretty face and a great guy--  _ oh, no-o-o-o-- _ he’s also  _ hot as hell _ ; all jutted muscle and tan skin. Tooru moans low in his throat, and tugs at Hajime’s shirt. 

“Get this off,” Tooru exhales shakily. He sounds desperate, though if Hajime notices, he doesn’t care. Hajime merely prys himself away, and pulls it off. Tooru holds back a gasp. He looks  _ gorgeous _ in the dim light of his bedside lamp; a Mickey Mouse one, bright red and a relic of the early 2000s. 

“Fuck,” whines Tooru. He knows he’s flushed a violent red-- a tropical burn-- and that’s unattractive, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when Hajime laughs at it--  _ at him? _ \-- and kisses him once more. Hajime kisses better than anyone Tooru’s ever kissed. He kisses him like it’s their last and first kiss simultaneously; desperate and wanting for more each time, yet soft and--  _ loving _ ,  _ oh Jesus---- _

Hajime’s a noticeable weight above him, though he shifts downwards and settles between Tooru’s parted thighs. It all feels a little more natural and comfortable. Tooru feels Hajime smooth a thumb over his cheek, and Tooru wraps his arms around Hajime’s neck. His knee comes up, and he hooks it around his calf; his other legs-- his  _ not-so-good  _ right one-- stays on the mattress. Hajime doesn’t seem to mind. He groans, a little, at the resulting friction, and finally--  _ finally _ \-- Tooru can feel the bulge. 

It’s large, he thinks, though not  _ too  _ large; comfortably big, he decides, though not inconveniently so. Everything’s nicely proportioned with Hajime, Tooru thinks. It’s a good quality to have; he wouldn’t want it any other way. It’d be a disaster if he were anything less than absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, for Hajime  _ needs  _ to be on the same level as Tooru,  _ if not more _ , since otherwise, they’d  _ never  _ be the most attractive couple in all of Tokyo when they move next year, and  _ oh-- _

Tooru moans-- like a pornstar-- as he rolls his hips once more and kisses Hajime again; a little harder, with more tongue and teeth until they’re just rutting against each other and breathing into each others mouths. It’s sort of pathetic, Tooru thinks, but  _ so hot _ . He could come, like this, but----

“How long-- how long until your parents come home?” Tooru asks. Hajime’s little sister had parent-teacher conference; it was an evening affair, and they were invited for dinner at said sister’s friend’s house, later. Haijme had opted out, thankfully.

“About--” Hajime cranes his neck, and Mickey tells him the time; seven thirty-nine. “Two hours?”

Tooru nods. 

“Okay,” he breathes, “I-- that should-- yeah. I mean, I doubt I’m gonna last.”

Hajime laughs, and Tooru  _ feels  _ it; he feels his rib cage rattle against his own, and it’s the best feeling he’s ever experienced. It wants to feel Hajime laugh like that everyday for the rest of his life. 

“Me too,” says Hajime, “But-- I-- even so, I don’t… I don’t want to....”

Hajime doesn’t manage to tell Tooru  _ what _ he doesn’t want to do, but Tooru fills in the blanks. Hajime blushes and averts his eyes, so it’s  _ bound  _ to be about sex; anal in particular. Hajime’s not great at communicating  _ normal _ thoughts; mix that with embarrassing topics and Hajime’s a mute, really. 

Tooru lifts his head from the pillow and leers at Hajime, observing him as if he were under a microscope and Tooru were a brilliant scientist. He tilts his head. Hajime’s  _ nervous _ ; steady-ready Hajime is  _ nervous _ . The thought calms him down, a little.

“Handjobs, then,” Tooru sings, head falling back against the pillows. Hajime furrows his brow and widens his eyes as if Tooru had said something outrageous, though he settles closer to Tooru regardless. 

“Right,” Hajime states, after a moment, “Handjobs. Should-- should I-- we--”

“You go first.”

Hajime pulls his lips to one side and groans. 

“C’mon,” he says, “That’s unfair. You proposed this; you should go first!”

“D’you not  _ want _ to--”

“Of course I do!” Hajime exclaims a little too quickly and a little too loudly.

_ Bingo _ , Tooru thinks. The score’s 1:2 now, and Tooru’s  _ winning _ .

“See,” Tooru replies, “Besides, you’re  _ basically  _ naked already.”

Hajime bites at the inside of his mouth.

“Rock paper scissors?” he suggests shyly.

Tooru sighs. Hajime looks terrified, and honest. He’s  _ weak _ .

“ _ Fine _ ,” he decides, sitting up, “Best out of one, though; don’t wanna wait.”

Hajime’s ears are bright pink as he whispers  _ rock-paper-scissors _ under his breath; just like they’d done for years. 

Hajime wins.

“Yes!” he shouts as Tooru groans dramatically, “Dicks out, Tooru.”

Tooru lifts his shoulders and stands. His legs are shaking, a little; he’s shaking from head to toe, really, and for what?  _ It’s only Hajime _ , he reminds himself as he tears his t-shirt off,  _ it’s only Hajime, and oh, God-- that’s his shirt that I wore, and oh-- f-u-u-u-c-k don’t look at him; don’t look at him; he’s watching you, don’t look at him---- _

Tooru stands before Hajime, then, shirtless and a little cold and very much afraid. Hajime sits on his bed-- on top of a thousand Godzillas-- watching him with inert attention. He can’t tear his gaze away-- Hajime’s captivating, like that-- and so, he looks Hajime directly in the eyes as he hooks his fingers into the elastic of his boxers before pulling them down. They fall down his legs-- long and strong, with sharp joints that could poke an eye out-- and then, he’s naked; he’s  _ naked  _ in front of his  _ best friend, soulmate, partner for the 2024 olympics, probably _ and suddenly, he wishes the floor would open up and swallow him. 

Hajime’s still watching him. He’s silent. His eyes trail down Tooru’s face-- slowly-- and then down to his torso, then his hips and nether regions. Tooru’s  _ rock hard _ and suddenly, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands; he balls them up into loose fists, then lets them go slack once more as he  _ waits _ .

“So….,” Tooru says after a moment. His tone wavers, and he’s quiet. “Are you… are you gonna get naked, too…?”

Hajime swallows thickly.

“Yeah,” he says. He’s not looking at Tooru’s eyes or mouth when he’s speaking. His eyes roam up and down Tooru’s body; across the expanse of his skin, lingering on his arousal-- flushed pink-- and the marks he’d left earlier. Hajime clears his throat, then stands. “Yeah,” he repeats, “Sorry, I just-- wow….”

Tooru wraps his arms around himself. He stares down at his toes; he should have clipped his toenails, he berates. 

“Wow?” he murmurs back. Hajime steps closer to him, resting his palms over Tooru’s fingers; Tooru’s cold, but Hajime’s warm. Thermodynamic equilibrium. 

“Yeah,” Hajime says against Tooru’s lower lip, “Wow. I think… I think you’re really pretty; the most gorgeous thing in the whole world, probably.”

Tooru’s eyes flicker up to Hajime’s face. His mouth distorts into unattractive surprise, though Hajime’s utterly beautiful, and-- for once-- he’s speechless. 

Hajime kisses his temple, interlaces their fingers and wraps one arm around Tooru’s shoulders. He guides Tooru’s hand down to the waistband of his boxers, and lets Tooru pull them down. Hajime’s body is pressed against his, and for a long while, they simply  _ hug _ ; naked, and a whole lot terrified. Tooru feels Hajime’s rattling heartbeat against his own, and suddenly, he thinks that they’ll be okay; this’ll work out, because Hajime’s just as nervous as he is. Tooru exhales a shuddering sigh and rests his forehead against the crook of Hajime’s neck. He watches their fingers; intertwined, and Hajime’s toying with them as if he simply was mesmerised that he was holding Tooru’s hand. Tooru kisses Hajime’s shoulder; his neck, his jaw, simply everywhere he could reach until Hajime ducks his head and they kiss, for a while. 

“I-- I want to-- bed,” Tooru eventually hushes against Hajime’s lower lip. 

“Okay,” Hajime whispers. His breath is warm over Tooru’s ear, and so is his hand as he leads Tooru back to his bed. Tooru lies back on the mattress, and Hajime climbs over him just as he’d done before, though things are different, now; Tooru feels more calm and a whole lot more lustful and a whole less like vomiting. He reckons Hajime’s the same, for Hajime trails his palms up and down Tooru’s outer thighs and sides. His eyes remain fixated on Tooru’s though, and Tooru stares right back. Tooru can feel Hajime’s arousal brush and rub against his thigh. Bravely, Tooru lifts his leg ever so slightly to increase that friction, and Hajime  _ moans _ . The sound is immensely exciting. 

“Fuck,” Hajime says, and then, they’re kissing again. Hajime’s fingers brush all over Tooru’s skin and elicit goosebumps as they make their way down to Tooru’s jutting hipbones. Tooru rolls his hips; he brushes his arousal against Hajime’s stomach. Tooru groans into Hajime’s mouth at that friction, and Hajime--  _ oh, Hajime _ \-- pushes his hips down to indulge him, then shifts until they’re perfectly aligned. Hajime takes them both into his palm-- there’s enough precome between the both of them to make this work-- and  _ oh---- _

“Fuck,” Tooru breathes quietly; the moment was too fragile for loud words. “Feels so good,” he tells Hajime, “Oh,  _ fuck _ \--  _ Hajime _ \--”

Hajime licks his lower lip. His brow is furrowed as he strokes them both-- firm and slow-- and there’s sweat on his forehead. He looks amazing, Tooru thinks. He wonders whether Hajime touches himself like this, too, and whether he thinks of Tooru. Tooru certainly thinks of Hajime, though nothing could have prepared him for how  _ good _ this feels, and it’s  _ only a handjob, oh---- _

“Shit,” grits Hajime. His grip falters, a little, and so Tooru snakes an arm between them to touch Hajime, too. The skin is searing to the touch.  _ I did that _ , Tooru reminds himself. 

Tooru rests his fingers above Hajime; they’re in sync, he wonders. Tooru feels boneless beneath his touch. The room’s quiet around them, too, aside from those tiny, little noises escaping Tooru’s throat ever so often and Hajime’s ragged breaths. 

“‘s good,” Tooru tells him once more. He cups Hajime’s face as Hajime glances up at him. Tooru smiles at him shakily, and Hajime exhales a small laugh, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. 

“You’re beautiful,” Hajime marvels. He tangles a hand in Tooru’s hair, and rests their foreheads against one another. Tooru’s glasses are in the way--  _ again _ \-- but Hajime smiles down at him softly, and he can’t bring himself to care.

“So are you,” Tooru whispers. He presses a chaste kiss to Hajime’s lips as Hajime laughs heartedly; his chest vibrates once more. “I wouldn’t date anyone any less beautiful than myself.”

Hajime kisses him. 

“Narcissist,” he tells him. Tooru hums and stops thinking altogether as Hajime drags his fingers along his girth and presses his face against Tooru’s neck, panting harshly. Their hand moves faster and grips a little tighter; they’re desperate, and  _ oh, God, he’s really not going to last long, is he? _ Tooru thinks as he trails a single finger along the thick vein of Hajime’s arousal. He cups up and over the ridge and palms at the head. Hajime shudders in his arms.

Tooru whimpers and pulsates in Hajime’s hand as Hajime thumbs at the head. He palms him once or twice before stroking once more, increasing the pressure and speed just enough to make Tooru lift his hips and pant through his open mouth. Their legs are intertwined, and he digs his nails into Hajime’s back as he swallows against his dry throat.

“Hajime,” he mouths, “ _ Hajime _ \--”

His thighs tremble as Hajime kisses gently against his neck. He could feel Hajime’s eyelashes flutter against his skin. Tooru fixates his lidded eyes on the  _ Power Rangers  _ poster beside Hajime’s bed, as he chokes on a trembling breath and arches his back; he comes, hard, and trembles beneath Hajime’s touch. Hajime comes with gritted teeth and a muffled groan, and the sensation of his come sliding against Tooru’s abdomen makes arousal stir within him once more. Tooru licks his lips and exhales a silent moan. 

_ Don’t you judge me _ , Tooru tells the red power ranger,  _ you’d do the same, in my position.  _

Hajime collapses on top of him. Tooru feels all the oxygen inside his legs be pushed out forcibly, and he heaves under the weight.

“Shit,” Hajime says. His voice his hoarse. “Sorry.”

His hair is mussed as he settles beside Tooru; half sitting up, half lying down atop of his Godzilla bedsheet. His muscles contort in that position, and  _ fuck, he’s beautiful; he’s my boyfriend, and he’s beautiful. _

Tooru can’t help himself; he grabs either side of Hajime’s face and kisses him hard enough to push Hajime back against the mattress. Hajime makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat before tangling his come-covered fingers in Tooru’s hair and smiling against Tooru’s lips. 

Tooru pulls back, first, though not before pressing chaste kissing against Hajime’s grin and flushed cheeks and temple. 

Tooru’s not sure who’s won this round. He’d lost track of the score ages ago, though he supposes it’s even, really-- anyone’s pick-- but in moments like this, he’s the winner, for Hajime pulls him close and the way his arms wrap around his body feels like coming home. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> fukin nerds
> 
>  
> 
> follow me on my tumblr @ reminscees


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